


One-Thousand Cranes

by mad_like_a_lynx



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, And has Lolita-esque origins, And has a little bit of magic to share, Ash is a sex worker, Eiji is an artist, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Realism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, canon-typical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_like_a_lynx/pseuds/mad_like_a_lynx
Summary: Eiji taught Ash to love differently.After Dino, the only education Ash received in love came from the movies and in the sheets of motel bedrooms. He learned more from the movies.___Life is hard for Ash, but Eiji brings some magic into his life.





	1. As I Lay Dying

He sat on a metal bench in the park, protected by the shadows of an old oak tree heavily pregnant with yellow leaves, and thought about Faulkner and death.  

It was almost five o'clock and he was expecting company.

 "You Ames?"

Ash looked up at the name. When men bought his time from the catalog, that was what they called him. It had not been his idea, but he did not mind so much. It kept things simple: Ash was a normal guy and Ames was not, Ames was a prostitute and Ash was not.  There, simple. 

The man looked clean and well-dressed, almost as if he were prepared for some kind of date. A smile peaked at Ash's lips but he felt grateful. Tonight might not be so bad.

"That's me," he said, then rose to his feet. His usually blonde eyelashes were painted black with mascara and his hair immaculately styled. In his ear, he wore a jade stud that perfectly matched his eyes. The man looked him over, biting the inside of his cheek. He appeared shy and nervous, another good sign.

Ash pretended to meet his gaze but instead looked past him. A squirrel fat with garbage scurried by and a child screamed. A man walked a tiny white dog and a bicycle chimed. He rocked on his feet. This gave him a shy allure he knew clients liked, but he only did it to bring himself back to reality.  Feeling the ground beneath his feet reminded him that he had a job to do.

"You're even more beautiful than your picture," the man managed to say. He was a tad younger than most of his clients, his cheeks only slightly heavy with age. Ash gave him a smile much too sugary to be real.

"Especially your eyes," he finished.

"Hmm," Ash responded. His voice was thickly sweet. "So where did you want to go, hun?"

 The answer turned out to be the Intercontinental in Midtown, Ash had been there before.

 He said that his name was Lou and attempted to cement the illusion by taking Ash's hand. At first he refused, but eventually gave in, as it meant Lou would no longer talk as much. 

 Ash continued to think about Faulkner.If he timed this right he would probably have enough time after a shower to finish writing his paper. It was due tomorrow: "The Many Motivations in William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying," five pages in MLA format for Mrs. Johnson's 11th grade English class.

Inside, the room looked pristine; sheets thick, white and crisp. Ash removed a condom from his pocket and with practiced hands expelled it from the plastic. He held it up in front of Lou, then smiled at the displeased face. "Without is extra."

Ash knew this man's type, a first-time caller too embarrassed and new to argue or see his date as an object. So the condom was tossed onto the bed-side table for later. 

His tongue pushed inside Lou's mouth. He smelled of his lunch and expensive cologne, his groans were desperate.

Fingers hooked into Ash's pants, then his underwear. Both came off.He thought about the little boy in Faulkner's story, who drilled holes into his mother's coffin so that she could breathe. 'My mother is a fish,' he proclaimed.

"You're beautiful, Ames."

He could see the daylight die through the window as his thoughts faded into white noise. Lips tasted his skin.

'I am a fish,' Ash mused as the man moved inside of him. His mind went underwater. 'I am a fish.'

 

 Ash thought that he had been in love once. That was when he was eleven-years-old; frightened, doe-eyed and alone.

Before he was alone, there was his brother. When their father went to prison, Griffin Callenreese's world changed instantly from baseball and homework to changing diapers and paying bills. Neither of their mothers stuck around.

Ash begged to visit him once. He was five-years-old and screamed when he saw their father behind the glass window. After that, he never saw or thought about his father again. 

 When Griffin went to Vietnam, Ash felt angry. But most of all, he wondered what he did wrong. He thought if only he had done things differently, if only he had been a better brother, then maybe Griffin would have never left.

Six months living with his aunt in Philadelphia passed before talk of Griffin, like his letters, slowed to a trickle. Now only old photos were proof that Griffin ever existed.

Ash's life changed again when his aunt began to date a new man. It was 1978 and the two of them had moved into a small two-story apartment building. The walls peeled and smelled thickly of cheap paint and aluminum, but for the first time in his life, Ash slept in a room of his own.

 Their landlord was a man named Dino, and after two months he and his aunt were dating. Dino Golzine was an unassuming older man who owned several dubiously inexpensive housing properties outside of Philadelphia and New York. From 1979-1985, Ash would watch all of these go under, leaving behind only Dino's aging Cadillac.

Dino liked Ash. Cheap his aunt was with her money and affection, but Dino fed Ash with gifts and attention until his heart grew round and full.  He could remember standing in front of his apartment door, eyes wide with wonder the first time Dino touched his arm and called him beautiful. 

All Ash ever wanted was to be loved. And for a long time, he thought that Dino loved him.

On a Saturday in September, his aunt left to get groceries and never came back. A truck and her car met, like an animal ensnared by a snake, a mile away from their apartment. The hospital robotically delivered that the truck driver fell asleep at the wheel while a grandparent Ash never met claimed the body. 

Later, Dino would tell Ash that there were two kinds of love in the world: short love and long love. He explained that while his love for his aunt had been short, his love for Ash would be long.

 As he got older, Ash began to notice the wrinkles and the bulging belly. He became aware of the hair that clogged the shower drain, how Dino always spit when he smoked; that their small amount of money went towards expensive, bland food and clothes that made Ash itch. He would snort during sex and the stench of patchouli oil topped with cinnamon made bile seize his throat.

When the two-bedroom apartment was liquidated and became another, then another, until there was nothing left to go home to but that fancy car parked a mile outside of Manhattan, the spell was broken. 

Often, Dino was drunk. If Ash refused to sleep with him, he would be ignored for days. During these times he would pace an empty motel hallway for hours, his arms and face abloom with bruises. Eventually, his thoughts would fade and he could settle into that comfortable feeling of not existing.

 Ash turned fourteen and Dino finally said, "Please, kitten. We need the money."

Within days Ash started turning tricks. He got a faux-fur coat and stole a pair of boots. At school, he got used to excusing away the limping and covering up his tired eyes and bruises with makeup. He rationalized that Dino might change.

 Ash thought that he had been in love once, but he was a frightened and grieving child. His love had been short. 

 

At school, Ash could pretend that he was normal. He didn't especially like school, but he was good at it, and it got him away from Dino.Dino didn't like his pet stupid.

Ash changed schools much too often to have friends, so he never put any effort into making them.

That is until the Japanese boy. 

It was the tail end of fall and New York's streets were thick with leaves. Ash walked to school in the same outfit as the night before, having never made it home. Lou wanted to hold him and added extra bills to his white envelope, so Ash accepted the consequences of a quick morning shower and writing about Faulkner on the subway.

He wrote the paper on his lap. Strangers in the train hollered and blasted a new pop song from a boom box as he mused on coffins and fish and the holes that the little boy accidentally left in his mother's face. 

 

_"As I lay dying, the woman with the dog's eyes would not close my eyes as I descended into Hades."_

 

He handed in his paper then sat down at his desk, suddenly aware of his new neighbor. What was once empty now held an occupant.

Other than being a foreigner, he seemed unremarkable; a Keith Haring tee, a sports jacket with khakis, a forgettable face framed by black hair. But his black eyes were large and they brimmed with kindness.

His hands busied themselves on the desk with a piece of paper, fingers gentle like his eyes.The paper appeared to be a Hershey's candy bar wrapper.

When Ash squinted and noticed the other papers on the desk, he recognized them to be a small flock of paper cranes. 

There were so many of them, a menagerie of perfectly folded little birds that came in all colors and patterns: cranes made of plastic, cranes made of newspaper, cranes made of foil, cranes made of school pamphlets, cranes that were red, white and blue, cranes with words Ash could only make out as "big sale Saturday--"

The boy studied the new crane in his hand and looked adoringly upon it like a mother would a child. Carefully he brought the little bird up to his lips and blew air into its tiny body. The bird's chest puffed out with a small pop; the plastic crinkled, and Ash swore that he saw the little form begin to squirm and flap its wings.

He noticed Ash staring, cupped his hands around the paper bird, then smiled. Ash wasn't sure what to do, so he smiled back. 

 "Eh-gee is from Japan," Mrs. Johnson said to an uninterested class. Behind her, a boy pulled his eyes to the side of his face. The kids on that side of the room giggled at the minstrel act, but the new student kept his pleasant smile. "Do you want to introduce yourself to the class?"

He walked to the front of the classroom, leaving his paper creations behind. His smile remained amicable as he introduced himself as Eiji Okumura. 

 "Eh-gee Okay-mor-uh," the teacher repeated. Some of the students said the new name to themselves. Eiji was standing straighter now, but seemed unfazed, "Tell us a bit about yourself, Eh-gee."

"I am seventeen-years-old," he began. His accent was thick and the other students teased. The teacher merely kept her smile and told them to quiet down so he could finish. "I am on the track team and focus on pole vault," he paused, his soft eyes beginning to look nervous with all of those white faces on him, "I like cooking and art. I have lived in America for two years."

A voice from the back, "Then why do you still sound so Chinesey?" 

Eiji's face was bright pink now, but his pleasant expression remained. He ignored the comment but glanced at the teacher, asking for help with his eyes. Predictably, she did nothing. 

Instead, she thanked him and sent him back to his seat. He was moving the cranes into his bag, an abnormally nice leather satchel, when the teacher singled him out again. Ash noticed a single crane made of newspaper fall from Eiji's hands to his feet, then frowned in confusion when he was sure that the little paper creature  _twitched._ Before he could observe further, Eiji reunited the crane with its flock. 

"Eh-gee, we have been reading As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner," she placed a copy of the book on his desk. Each syllable she pronounced was slow and deliberate, "So we are going to discuss it today. Please let me know if you have any trouble with the reading."

Eiji smiled thinly, "I will. Thank you."

During lunch, Ash made his way to the library. It was his routine: bribe the guy from his physics class-- a cigarette in exchange for 90 cents, enough for a full meal--smoke a cigarette with said guy, then take his shitty pizza slice and fruit cup to a corner of the library where he could read alone.

He was surprised to find Eiji there. His hands were busy again, this time scrawling in what appeared to be a sketchbook. It was interesting to see his kind, big eyes so intense and focused. He looked so alone.

If Ash did not feel so alone himself, he might have said hello. Instead, he disappeared into a row of books to spend time with Dostoyevsky. 

After school, Ash went on a few dates. One of the men was embarrassingly quick, another infuriatingly long. The third man left a bruise on his ass and elbowed him in the face. By the end of the night, he was sweaty, sore and hungry. His ass itched.

He stopped at a payphone and used the last of his change to call the motel. Predictably, Dino was furious that he did not come home the night before. He called Ash a slut. 

Ash asked if he could use a little of the money for something to eat and a train ride to the motel; Dino said no, but he did it anyway.

 In the morning fresh new bruises painted his back, his anus swelled and blood was in the toilet. Dino came in as he brushed his teeth, dressed for the day.

 "You know that I hate doing this to you," Dino touched one of the small bruises on his neck, it felt tender. His hand traveled to his cheek where he stroked it with his thumb. Ash stared into the mirror and kept brushing. The fluorescent lighting gave him a headache. "But you can't keep making me worry about you." More brushing. Ash was happy that his mouth filled with spit and toothpaste, it kept him from speaking his mind.

"I'm sorry," Dino continued, and Ash spat into the sink. His mouth was still peppered with toothpaste when lips attempted to taste his neck, then his lips. Ash expertly evaded his movements then wiped his mouth. They stared at one another. 

"You're ungrateful," an edge tinted the man's voice now. "And have no idea how lucky you are."

"Hmm," Ash hummed. 

"You're getting older," Dino chided, then pinched a small layer of fat on Ash's love handles. The teen squirmed and moved away. "And you're gaining weight." 

Ash left the bathroom then, Dino on his heels. He slipped on a black Joy Division t-shirt under a denim jacket before looking into the mirror and brushing his hair with his hands.  The old TV in the motel room played the weather forecast as it fizzled in and out.

 At school, things were as always, until Ash saw the little yellow crane on his desk. When he sat down he almost hesitated to touch it, the creature was so tiny and delicate. He let it rest in his palm and studied the bird's fragile little body. 

It looked different from the others he saw the day before, and his fingers explored the edges of fine, professional origami paper decorated with colorful illustrations of bananas.

Curious, he pulled its tail and watched the wings flap upwards.

 Eiji's desk clattered as he took his seat in it. He smiled at Ash, happy that he found his gift. He asked, "Do you like it?" and Ash nodded.

The little crane covered in bananas carefully went into his bag, then got forgotten by lunchtime.

 

 


	2. A Little Help

Eiji's first memory of New York City was the smell.

 When he arrived at the airport, eyes wide and his shoes as new as he was, the garbage strike had been celebrating its three-week anniversary.

Eiji never could have imagined the amount of trash human beings could accumulate. Piles of rotting garbage, hot with summer heat, collected into fortresses of stink.

His little sister stared for a long time at a shirtless punk on the train, green hair wet and skull buckles glittering as he snored. He was covered in vomit. She gripped Eiji's hand as he struggled to look out the window, the graffiti so thick that he needed to peer through the hole of a shoddy "O" to check for their stop. 

Eiji learned many things his first year in New York: that people screamed at four in the morning, that it was not called "crack" because you saw tiny vials in the cracks of the sidewalks, how to fall asleep to a soundtrack of salsa music and gunshots, and that buildings really could stay together out of grime and stubbornness.

When Eiji was fifteen, his family packed up and moved their small home in Izumo to America. A month before, the fatigue and little pains his father casually dismissed for years turned his eyes and skin yellow. Doctors would find a monster twisting in his guts, _hepatocellular carcinoma_ , inoperable.

His father, now aged beyond his forty years, wanted to be closer to his sister, who practiced law in New York. Long ago a falling out kept them apart, but death changes things. So the house in Izumo was rented to a family named the Takahashi's, a pleasant couple with two little children and a happy curly-tailed dog, who promised to keep the home warm until the Okumura's return. 

America shocked Eiji's senses. Gone were the pre-war buildings made of clay and wood that smelled of hinoki and rice paper. Gone were the shrines, the numerous noodle shops, the clear waves of Inasa that framed the beach where Eiji's father told him the story of the _Kunibiki Shinwa._

Now he lived in a pre-war brownstone with barred windows and a clanking radiator. It smelled of his aunt's Japanese cooking, foreign without the bonito flakes or shiso leaves. When he spoke of missing the sea, he was taken to see the Atlantic Ocean, where the differences weighed even heavier on his heart.

Eiji liked to run and joined the pole vault team when his coach asked him to try out. When he ended up being good, he kept up with practice because he was not used to being good at things.

 At his school in Japan, Eiji struggled to fly the highest. A kid named Mizuno took that from him, wings made stronger with his wide shoulders and towering height. Against him, Eiji was at the mercy of his genetics.

At his American school, Eiji was the best. If the team had not been so small, he might have cared. 

"You're up, Eiji," said Sing. He was one of the only other east Asians in school, an army brat who returned to America last year after living on bases in China and Kuwait. He was smaller, but an excellent runner who had legs thick with muscle. Eiji liked him, and Sing liked him too.

 During practice, they spoke of their mother's congee over exercises and completing laps. In these moments, Eiji could feel like a normal high school student again. He believed for a time that he had finally found a friend in a kindred spirit, but Sing was never looking for the same thing as Eiji.

 At lunch, he would devour the same food as his classmates, while Eiji heard jeers about the "smelly" food that he picked at with his chopsticks.There was no denying that Eiji was different, and so their friendship began and ended on that short stretch of land, left behind in storage with the running shoes and the fiberglass poles.

Eiji couldn't blame his teammate for wanting to become a chameleon.

A deep breath and Eiji was ready. His muscles flexed and the pole in his hands felt hot.Okay.

 

 Run.

 

 Hit.

 

 Jump.

 

 In the sky, nothing mattered. Not his family, his dying father, or the kids at school. For those brief seconds in the air he could exist only with the clouds, his mind hollow just like his paper birds.

 The sky felt the same in America.

 

_Fly._

 

Eiji's first memory of his grandmother was an origami rabbit. As a child, he thought nothing of how the little creature could greet him with a sniff, how its paper chest breathed as a living creature did. Only when he grew older did he recognize this as magic.

 "Everything has a soul, Eiji," his grandmother told him. They were sitting in the garden together where she grew yams, cucumbers, and radishes; it was spring, and the foliage was heavy with fruit. In her aging hands she held a small paper square, which she slowly started to fold.

 "Everything, Baba?" Eiji asked. He didn't sound as if he believed it. Despite witnessing magic, the world was already making him cynical.

 "Everything. Even this piece of paper." She carefully made another fold. "Some things just need a little help." Another little paper rabbit, just like the one from his childhood, formed in her hands. Carefully she brought the creature up to her mouth and breathed life into it. Eiji laughed as the rabbit's little paper ears and nose began to twitch, then watched as it hopped from his grandmother's hand to the ground.

 "The world was once full of magic," she explained as they watched the little rabbit. Eiji observed as it attempted to nibble at a cucumber. "Today you need to look more closely."

 From his grandmother, he learned to fold, how to fill his breath with life. He learned to make horses and frogs, cats and insects, even dragons and robots. When his little sister Yuki was old enough, he would spend hours entertaining her with his little animals, making them perform tricks. Most were awkwardly folded with stubby tails, bent ears, and uneven legs that made them walk with a limp. But she had laughed and cheered for them, and Eiji felt happy.

 As they matured, Yuki gradually lost all interest in these games, opting instead for friends and sports at school. When he tried to teach her origami, she called it "stupid." The paper animals made for her went into a drawer, forgotten.

 "What good is magic if it doesn't actually do anything?" Eiji asked. He was thirteen-years-old and now towered over both his grandmother and the plants in the garden. His grandmother's body was smaller, and her hands shook with arthritis; she had not made origami in years.

 "What do you mean?" She looked at him with an amused smile.

 "What good is magic if all it can do is make paper dogs dance?"

 "Ei-chan, not everything that is good needs a purpose."

 "There has to be more to it," Eiji insisted. His grandmother only smiled.

 Baba gifted him with years of knowledge and memories, but her cremation had only taken two hours.

His chopsticks picked up the bones of feet, which only days ago left footprints in the garden. Next came the legs and knees, where he sat and listened to stories as a child. The ribs he used to hug, the skull fragments where her soul once lived. Each piece, carefully placed into the urn.

Piece after piece, Eiji thought about souls. He wondered if his grandmother still lived in these bones, if a little help could bring her back. 

 When his family finished collecting the fragments, Eiji imagined manipulating the contents of the urn like paper, breathing life into them like his grandmother had the origami rabbit.

 Time took his grandmother and the magic of origami with her. Eiji's paper creations went into the drawer with Yuki's, or out with the trash.

The void left in his life filled with drawing, photography and the track team. Every day he rode his bike to school and back, taking pictures of the same things over and over. He filled sketchbooks with drawings of animals and yokai. After school, his wings would stretch and he could fly.

Eiji started making cranes after arriving in America. It was strange, feeling the paper come to life again in his hands.

 "Fold one-thousand cranes and the gods will grant you a wish," his grandmother told him.

Eiji decided he would breathe life into a thousand paper cranes. He thought maybe the gods would be impressed with his gift, that all of the life he gave up could replace what was stolen from his father. It became an obsession.

In the brownstone, paper cranes flew everywhere. They perched on the ceiling fan, hid in cups and cracks in the walls. More than a few bent their beaks and wings by trying to fly out the window, hitting the screen instead. Paper birds nestled in his sister's hair and made nests in their bags of rice. One drowned in a pot of hot water as Eiji's aunt prepared for tea, and the flutter of paper could be heard well into the night as the little birds flapped and stretched their wings.

 Eiji tried catching the birds and keeping them in boxes, but often they would escape. It took a sizeable amount of duct tape to finally get the boxes secure, and even longer to catch them all. Eventually, he took to labeling each box with a number.

 At school, he continued to fold cranes out of anything and everything he could find. Arthur, a particularly miserable kid in his English class, made a habit of tearing them apart. He laughed while he ripped off their heads.

Arthur and his goons emptied his satchel into the toilet after class once, stuffing Eiji's head in after. He went to his next class dripping wet.

These incidents were common, which is how Eiji found himself in a new English class, giving a particularly miserable introduction and sitting next to Aslan "Ash" Callenreese.

 If Eiji was the school outcast, then Ash was the weird kid. Often he came to class disheveled and unbathed, cleaning up in the gym showers or the bathroom sink. His nails were bitten down to the nub and coated in flaking black polish, a contrast against his milky white skin. He hid his face behind long blonde hair, and when his hair was styled, a careful eye could see little bruises covered thickly in makeup.He hardly spoke, and always carried a book.

Eiji folded a crane out of a candy wrapper and felt eyes on him. When he noticed Ash watching, puzzled but interested, Eiji smiled. To his shock, Ash smiled back. He noticed with surprise that Ash's eyes were jade green.

 There was something sad about Ash. Eiji couldn't put his finger on it, only knew that it felt familiar. Which is why after school he biked to the Pearl Paint in Chinatown and bought a stack of fresh origami paper. He chose the first square on the pile, a yellow piece with illustrations of bananas, and began to fold. The little bird was left on Ash's desk.

 When anything happened to his creations, Eiji could feel it. Sometimes it hurt, like a headache in the far reaches of his brain. But most of the time it was as if something was taken from him, like an important memory Eiji suddenly could not remember.That night, he knew the paper crane was gone.

So he created another, this time a cat out of black paper. With a bit of paint, he gave the cat a white blaze, just like the one he saw sleeping on his neighbor's fire escape every morning.

 The day after it was a giraffe covered in strawberries, followed by a flowery monkey, then a tiger spotted with clouds. One day he left his failing math homework in the shape of a pig, and Ash laughed at the sight of it.

When they actually spoke for the first time, it was unexpected. School let out and Eiji readied himself to bike home. His camera was around his neck, a foot ready to kick up the brake when he fell. Bike and body hit the concrete, his camera with a pop. With shaky hands, he examined the shattered lens. A burning sensation covered his arm, it was sprinkled with blood.

"Hey, big man." Arthur stood over him, friends at his side. "Need some help?"

 "Y-you... broke my camera," Eiji said. He was shaking, equal parts fear and rage.

 "That's not all we're gonna break," Arthur laughed. "You really told on us? Ever hear that 'snitches get stitches?'" His friends snickered and Eiji's face turned pink. That had been his father's idea when he returned home last week with a bloody nose.

 "I..." He began.

 "Give us your bag. The camera too."

 Eiji gripped his bag defensively, Arthur rolled his eyes. "Give it," he demanded again. When he didn't budge, a boot went into Eiji's rib. He coughed and let go.

 Arthur began digging through the bag. He found his wallet, removed six dollars, then tossed it. Next came the sketchbook, quickly looked through and tossed as well. When he got to the batch of newly made cranes, he scoffed.

"What the hell is with you and this Chinese shit?" He threw the bag back at Eiji but kept the camera. Then his fists were around his collar. 

Eiji sputtered and coughed as the boot hit his chest, he refused to cry this time. 

 "Look who's a brave man today! Maybe you do have some balls down there," Arthur mocked. "Or do you no speaky English?"

A heavy heel hit his bike wheel, snapping a spoke. Eiji wheezed a sharp breath, his vision brown. Around him, he could hear Arthur and his friends chanting derogatory rhymes. Vomit filled his throat, then silence.

Arthur was still as a statue. A knife gleamed at his throat, and holding that knife was Ash. 

"Drop the camera," he said. Eiji vomited.

 "You don't have the balls, faggot," Arthur replied.

 "Try me." The blade tipped ever closer to the flesh of Arthur's neck. He looked otherworldly in his fur-trimmed bomber jacket, hand glinting with the pocket knife. Eiji could not see Ash's eyes behind his sunglasses, but he knew that he was serious.

Arthur relented and Eiji's camera was thrown on the sidewalk. When Ash didn't move, he looked agitated. "Put it down, man."

 "Not so fun when you're the one who has to dance, huh?"

 "You're fucking crazy."

 Ash smiled and backed away. It was a very different grin than the one afforded to Eiji. He held up the knife, showing off the blade. "Get lost."

 Arthur glared at him then spat at his feet. He left with the crowd.

 "Can you stand, Eiji?" Ash was at his level now. Eiji could have laughed, this was the first real conversation he ever managed to have with Ash.

 "I think so." He and his bike were helped to their feet. Eiji frowned at the broken spoke.

 "You can still ride it home," Ash commented. He was removing the broken spoke now. "Just get it replaced when you can." He handed the twisted piece of metal over, Eiji took it.

"... Thank you," Eiji managed. Ash simply shrugged, and Eiji suddenly felt very self-conscious of his shirt wet with blood and vomit.

 "Arthur is a dirty bastard." Ash took out a pack of cigarettes. One was offered to Eiji but refused. "I've seen what he does to people." His lighter clicked. 

 Eiji frowned. He swayed with his bike a little, smelling smoke. "He must be very sad," he said, "To treat others this way."

 Ash laughed and Eiji stared.

 "New York is a pit, but Arthur lives in the best of it. He has a nice family," Ash breathed in smoke, "Some people don't need a reason to be cruel."

 Eiji said nothing. This was the most he ever heard Ash speak, and his accent was thick with the city he lived in.

"Anyway, I wanted to do it. As thanks for Fish."

 Eiji blinked, confused. "Fish?"

 "Yeah, the cat."

 It took a moment for him to understand. "Oh...! You mean the paper cat?" Ash nodded. "You... named it 'Fish?'"

 "You got somethin' wrong with that?"

 "No. It is just... very strange name."

 Ash smirked knowingly, "For a very strange cat."

Eiji couldn't disagree.

 His leg hurt too much to bike home, so he walked. Ash followed. It was strange, as Eiji felt sure he did not live around here. But there was nothing to complain about, he enjoyed his company.

Ash bit the sides of his fingers as they walked. He showed many nervous tics like that, often to fill the silence. Eiji couldn't blame him, silence often made him uneasy, but something about it felt comfortable with Ash.

 "I am here," Eiji said when they reached the brownstone. Ash stared up at it as if taking in something foreign and unfamiliar. He squashed his cigarette under the toe of his hi-tops.

"Okay," he replied.

"I see you in the library," Eiji admitted. "You are alone."

"Yeah." Ash answered syllabically when he wasn't sure what else to say. 

"You should sit with me," he continued.

Ash nodded, "Okay." Eiji smiled. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to base Eiji's gift on the principles of animism and Shinto. With Eiji being from Izumo, the heart of Shinto, this seemed appropriate.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Like a Virgin

Exactly two years ago Ames was born, on a corner near Tompkin's Square Park.

It took twenty minutes, cold and shivering outside a pub on E 10th, for the barfly to approach him. Her make-up was thick as her heels were tall; plastic stilletos anointed with stripes of color, like the lollipops Griff got for him as a kid. She stared Ash up and down, gifted a sad smile, then told him her name was Candy. Two cigarettes were smoked before she explained how the street two blocks down was the one least frequented by cops. "They watch this bar," she said, then patted his arm.

Embarrassed, he started the walk to Avenue A, the hi-tops he wore useless against the frost-covered sidewalk. He thought of cutting his walk short until another bar came into view, a lone beacon of neon on a street of shuttered doors.Despite the Alice in Wonderland motifs, it looked to be a real dump, loud and reeking of cheap beer. At least the door opened frequently enough, warming his body with hot air.

Now that he was there, it became easier for Ash to imagine this spot becoming routine. He thought if tonight ended up being easy, then maybe he really could leave this shit hole behind for good. 

As a car approached, Ash stuck out his thumb. In his flamboyant boots and coat, he looked like a child pretending to be an adult. When the green Corolla rolled up to the sidewalk, he found himself unsure of what he actually wanted: money or a driver to take him far away.

"Need a ride?" The man wasn't bad looking, but he would have looked better without the mustache. Ash nodded, he could do this.

The passenger's seat opened and he got inside, instantly hit by the smell of cheap cologne and mint. It was warm, and Ash stared at his feet.

"Where to?" The northeastern accent was gruff but kind. Ash noticed a pair of dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror: D. Miller, Vietnam.His heart clenched. Despair and loneliness came over him at once, but his expression and tongue remained still.

There was a hum when Ash did not answer, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Ash lied. It was an obvious falsehood, but the man lacked any awareness to care.

"Where you heading?" The words were careful, as uncertain of his passenger's intentions as Ash was. He merely shrugged his shoulders and asked for a cigarette. 

Smoking made the wait easier. The car drove through the lower east side before crossing the East River into Williamsburg, then stopped outside of a dark row of brownstones. Ash's cigarette was smoked to the filter, leaving behind only a faint nicotine haze. He struggled to keep his brother out of his memory, but in his loneliness, Griffin was all he could think about. Under the glare of car light, the dog tags sparkled.

As a child, Ash proved precocious. He climbed anything and everything, muddied his shoes and scabbed his knees. When Griffin picked him up from school, Ash jumped up on a park bench before slipping, gashing his elbows on the concrete. Blood stained his shirt while he cried, but Griffin held his small body until Ash felt safe. 

His knees and elbows were clean now, but his soul bled. Maybe if he asked, this man would hold him for a little while.

They fucked in the front seat. It hurt but wasn't too bad. Mostly, Ash felt the pressure of the steering wheel against his back, the dog tags jingling with each impact. The big hands were gentle when holding him, and Ash thought being this close to another body was nice.

When he came, the man kissed him. The creeping whiff of stale tobacco slowly overpowered the smell of mint, kindling Ash's awareness of the growing wetness between his thighs. The glow of sex was gone, replaced by disgust and self-hatred. 

Cold air flushed his body when he left the car. Accepting money for something that he wanted seemed dirtier than sex, so when the man tried to pay him, Ash refused. He walked home, pockets empty, and his face scarlet with shame.  

His first real date was with his 9th-grade science teacher. After an awkward dinner at a seafood restaurant, they fucked in a lousy motel. Ash, too naive to know better, accepted a glass of champagne. They fucked again, and Ash could remember the feeling of being tipsy enough to zone out. He went home with fifty dollars in his pocket, it took only an hour for Dino to spend it all on a steak dinner and bottles of wine with a half-naked woman on the label.

The second client proved to be the most unlikeable man Ash ever met. He knelt on the concrete and blew him while his infant son slept in the back seat.

Sex with Dino was familiar yet dirty, like that time with the man and his son. Sometimes Ash hoped for a return to that mindset where being with Dino felt not only familiar but comfortable, that child-like innocence where the fucked-up nature of his life felt normal and even safe. 

And he was ugly when he slept. Awake, Dino possessed a strong aura, a type of strength and unquestionable dominance. In his sleep, the body on the bed belonged to nothing more than a drooling old man. Ash felt sick looking at him, unable to get his mind off the knife weighing heavily in the pocket of his jeans. All he would have to do is pop open the blade, it would be so easy.

Instead, he lit a cigarette and watched a documentary on TV, a mildly interesting film about the conservation efforts to save an endangered species of tree in France.The lead horticulturalists explained how the trees were becoming infected by a strange, deadly fungi experts could not quite understand. They seemed very distressed by these mysteriously dying trees, but Ash struggled to care, unable to find empathy for anything other than his empty stomach and the nasty case of hemorrhoids he woke up to that morning. 

Hours ago Ash and Dino had checked into a new motel, a dump in the Bronx with a fancy French name. Other than the black mold in the shower, it was acceptable: there was a coffee maker, free breakfast, and the wallpaper matched the color of the paper crane Eiji left on his desk that morning. 

Ash remembered it when looking through his bag for a book. One of the little paper wings got caught in the pages, which he carefully removed. The tiny bird was in his hand for less than a moment before the wings frantically began to flap, flying up to the ceiling fan in a blur of yellow. Its paper body was visibly perched on one of the still blades, chest heaving with a quiet crinkle. He stared.

Dino woke with a cough. He said something unintelligible before clearing his throat, leaving to take a piss. When he returned, the fan was switched on and the paper bird fell to the bed. Ash watched as Dino took notice of it and placed the crane in his hand, curiously looking it over as he removed each fold, changing it back into paper. It went into the trash, but Eiji continued to make paper animals for him.

It felt new for Ash, having something to look forward to. Every day it was a different, colorful little animal, each with its own personality. The giraffe had uneven, long legs that made it stumble as it walked, while the monkey disappeared on his train ride to the motel. A curious one, the tiger refused to be held, and melted into mud when the paper body fell into a puddle. The pig created from Eiji's red-spattered math homework proved particularly amusing; a pitiful, sad little creature who moped about before deflating and going still.The animals came and went, but for whatever reason, Fish stuck around.

Having Fish in his life was a lot like having a pet or friend without the responsibility. He didn't eat, defecate, cost money or make much noise, and he didn't complain or take up space as people do. He also did not, unlike most pieces of paper, work tirelessly for payments in the form of bills and taxes or mandatory jury duty. Ash knew that paper could bring a lot of bad news into people's lives, but just like the animal it took the shape of, Fish was aloof and did not give a shit.

Mostly Fish would watch Ash read. Its little paper tail twitched each time he turned a page, seemingly fascinated by something so similar to itself being incapable of moving literally, but rather metaphorically. Ash liked to imagine Fish having all sorts of esoteric conversations with his books, trying with desperate loneliness to speak in a language unfamiliar to a familiar form.

Finding company in a paper cat seemed strange, but there was a solace to be found in this bizarre creature, who seemed perfectly aware of its own strangeness. One that was folded similarly to himself, an odd shape capable of observing forms much like his own, but unable to communicate. It seemed more probable for Fish to be alive in his hand, paper chest purring quiet snaps and crackles than it was for Ash to fully connect with a living person. 

Ash had tried before, not looking for friends as much as struggling to find anyone at all to forge a connection with. At school, this proved especially arduous, already discovering it difficult to relate with his classmates.

His first attempt had been with the student from his physics class, the guy who swapped lunch money for cigarettes. Never before did they have much to say to each other, opting instead for that comfortable silence given from one weird kid to another, until Ash discovered a commonality between them.

It was after lunch when he spied his classmate receiving a blowjob from a girl. He looked much more fragile with his back arched against the brick, mouth puckered and knees quaking. 

He went unnoticed, but Ash watched as the bodies moved in unison together, his eyes ablaze in fascination rather than deviance. These expressions and gestures were not unfamiliar but felt foreign. The girl made little noises as she worked, smiling over her partner's dick as he shuddered with teenage impatience; it was interesting.

After the cigarettes were exchanged for lunch money, Ash decided to break routine: "I have a date tonight, but I left my condoms at home," he said. Ash saw him getting sucked off, so they had something in common, right? Didn't matter that Ash usually did the sucking. "Got one I can have?"

The kid stared at him incredulously, murmured something that sounded like 'no,' then went back to his cigarette.

During a group assignment in history, Ash proved useful, as he was a dutiful student. Ash enjoyed history for the same reason that he liked English. People in the past seemed inseparable from those within the pages of a novel; distant, but real enough to feel relatable.

When his classmates' banter turned casual, his tongue stilled. He listened as they discussed their after-school lives, mostly jobs consisting of babysitting and working behind the counters of fast food joints. One girl, pretty with thick black hair, told her story of working a Saturday morning at Morton Williams. A woman had come up to her counter with a small collection of groceries, presenting a coupon for 10% off ground beef.

"I tried to explain that the coupon could only be used once," she described, "But she wouldn't have it. She demanded to speak with my manager."

Some of the kids chuckled in an uneasy understanding. "I was nervous. There was a really long line, and my manager was busy. So I said sorry and rung it up anyway," she paused, chewing on her finger, "She yelled at me."

"The store received a letter about how awful I was. Got fired." It was terrible for her that night, she explained, and she had cried. How somebody could get fired or cry over this seemed bizarre to Ash, but he tried to empathize anyway.

"Customers can be assholes," Ash agreed, and the group stared, not used to hearing him say more than what was necessary. "Once I told a guy that I wasn't up to sucking, but he made me do it anyway," a pause for effect, "I bit his dick." He smiled, personally finding the story amusing. Nervous laughter followed and the girl glared at him. It wasn't until the end of class that he realized his classmates thought he was joking.

Ash had reached out to people many times, but no one had ever reached out to him. At least, not until the little crane covered in bananas appeared on his desk.

It was the day after their first walk together, and Ash did join Eiji in the library. Eiji smiled so warmly when he approached that Ash couldn't help but smile back. He put down his bag and lunch, shoved a straw into his carton of milk, then watched as Eiji scribbled in his sketchbook.

"You're really good," Ash said. He wasn't lying either, Eiji's drawings displayed a blossoming skill.

"I'm okay," he replied, adding a few small details to his drawing. It was some type of bird, which Eiji described as a tufted titmouse. "I see them on my windowsill every morning," he explained, "I think there is a nest under the a/c box."

Ash imagined Eiji looking out the window in the mornings, trying to spot the nest of birds. He could feel Eiji studying him, looking unsure until he finally spoke.

"That knife you had..." he began. It was understandable, of course, that he would still be thinking about the incident from yesterday. Ash felt the knife in his pocket, placing it on the table. "This?"

The knife was simple yet sharp, a silly thing that he pickpocketed years ago once he had begun turning tricks, but Eiji seemed impressed. His large eyes stared at the oak-grain casing as if looking over something foreign and new.

Eiji nodded, trying to get a better look, "Can I hold it?"

Ash could tell Eiji expected him to look amused, or to say no. Instead, he gave him a smile, said "sure," then handed it over. 

It was heavier than Eiji expected, and he could now make out some kind of wildcat carved into the wood. His fingers traced the grooves of the carving, down to the cold metal. He smiled at the pleasant feeling of it. 

"Thank you for trusting me with it," he said. "Uhm."

Green eyes looked him over curiously. "What?"

"Have you... ever stabbed anybody?"

A very thin smile, then a laugh. "No," Ash said with certainty. "Are you asking because of Arthur?"

"I guess so."

"I only wanted to scare him. But if he kept at it, I would have."

Eiji believed him. "I see."

"Does that scare you?" This made Eiji smile, the question difficult to take seriously while Ash sipped milk from a straw.

"No," he answered honestly. Ash hummed, interested.

With Ash around, Arthur's harassment of Eiji dwindled. Now two instead of one, Eiji was no longer easy pickings.

Most of the time their walks home were quiet. Eiji would ask Ash a question, Ash would answer pointedly, then a long but pleasant silence would follow. It felt nice, loneliness in the company of loneliness. 

A week later, Eiji came to school with a portable radio. He attached a strap and after school would tie it to his bike, playing the sounds of the day's top pop songs as they walked home.

The radio spoke of AIDS and packaged bombs, played the newest U2 and Duran Duran, then served as the tempo as both boys sang along to 'Everybody Wants to Rule the World.'

Eiji gave Ash his first taste of belonging, a model for what a possible friendship could look like. Until now, he never once imagined looking forward to or seeking out a connection with another person. It was unreal, almost as if he were stepping into somebody else's life. This was the life of someone genuine and young, somebody who didn't have plans to fuck a married man that night for $30. 

"You a virgin?" Ash asked. They were in Eiji's room, one that he shared with his sister in a small brownstone in The Village. It was fascinating to Ash, to see the home of what he considered a normal family.

Paper cranes were everywhere, fluttering about and decorating the home with their many colorful patterns. Moments ago they had laughed as Fish chased one, managing to pin a particularly floppy crane made of thin cardboard to the floor. 

Eiji looked instantly flustered, his face pink with embarrassment. "What?" He grabbed a pillow and threw it at Ash, who barely caught it. "Why would you ask that!"

Ash smiled thinly and held the pillow in his hands. Fish had inflated its little paper body in surprise. "Because I was wondering." 

"Why?" Eiji puffed his cheeks, "That's none of your business!"

"Since I'm not."

There was silence and Eiji looked slightly perplexed about what to say. Finally he settled on an "oh," then a shrug. "You have girlfriend?"

"No girlfriend." Ash almost wanted to laugh at the idea. Some nice girl attached to him, a guy who wore the same hoodie for two weeks straight. He cleaned up before his dates, but most men only cared about Ames' green eyes and tight little ass. "Do you?"

"No. Never."

"Me neither," Ash replied. He smiled at Eiji's visible confusion and shrugged.

"It must be nice, to be wanted," Eiji admitted, and he meant it. Ash could feel how genuine he was, and he liked Eiji for it.

"Not really," Ash stared at the beer in his hand. It was a Japanese brand he'd never heard of before, taken from the home fridge. It tasted faintly of peach. "Nobody wants me." He handed the beer to Eiji, who finished it.

He was silent before answering. "Yeah," he began, his voice soft. "I think I understand."

Ash hadn't expected that. "Yeah?"

"I think so," Eiji eyes wavered, he was folding a piece of paper in his hands, "In Japan, I was award-winning athlete. People wanted to be my friend, but then I stopped winning." He wrote a number on the paper before he blew air into the body. The crane flew from his hand onto the dresser.

There was silence, then a nod from Ash.

"People only want me for one thing," he began, followed by more silence. 

Then, "I hate sex," Ash finally admitted. "I don't understand why people like it."

Eiji hummed. He looked as if there was something he wanted to say, but didn't.

"That is what I have to offer," he explained. "I don't have anything else." When Eiji didn't question him, only nodded sadly before asking if he wanted to watch a movie, Ash allowed himself to fall in love again. 

 

Fall turned into winter and money was tight. By early December, it was back to living out of the Cadillac, parked inconspicuously near a New Jersey Y.What Ash hated most about living out of a car wasn't the shortage of comfortable sleep, cleaning up and relieving himself in public restrooms, or the crap diet that came with the lack of a fridge: it was the boredom. Often Dino drove around aimlessly, assisted by a soundtrack of classical music and screaming cars. For Ash, it was hell.

Sometimes, when they found themselves back on the streets, Dino would simply drive them off in search of somewhere new to set root. Ash never cared before, but with Eiji in his life now, the fear haunted him. He imagined the Cadillac sailing across the state line into Pennsylvania, intent on new seas, before throwing open the door and jumping out. 

Ash began watching Eiji during track practice. He looked fantastical, breathing smoke into the chilly air as his body moved about the asphalt path. Fish got lively when he was near Eiji, and Ash could feel him scratching against the zipper of his backpack while he lounged on the bleachers. He briefly considered taking him out but thought better of it.

When Eiji waved at Ash and ran over, the air felt a lot less cold. He pulled down the hood of his black sweatshirt, giving Eiji a smile as he sprawled beside him. The season for field sports ended in the fall, but Eiji was diligent about practicing and kept himself disciplined. 

A thin layer of sweat bubbled on his skin as he drank from a bottle of blueberry Gatorade. He offered some to Ash, who took a swig. Eiji laughed when he noticed that it had turned his tongue slightly blue.

"I thought maybe we could go to the park today," Eiji said. He was messing with his Walkman, fitted with a Joy Division tape Ash had stolen for him a few days ago. His fingers were fast forwarding the tape, most likely trying to find 'Disorder,' Ash's favorite. "I don't want to go home."

He thought about sitting in the Cadillac for hours until his ass went numb, or standing at a phone booth to make a call about a new trick.  "Me neither," Ash agreed. The tape inside the Walkman hissed as it spun. "Wanna get the hell out of here?" 

Ash joined Eiji on his bike to Central Park, gripping the satchel tight as he rode shotgun. It was his first time on a bicycle, and despite the bitter cold, he loved it.

Seeing New York this way felt new. On the surface nothing was different, but he felt more a part of the city now, like a shadow who no longer skimmed the streets until darkness came. Awareness made him notice the colors and smells of the different neighborhoods, of the vibrant energy that was beautiful and uniquely New York. It felt strange and wonderful, and Eiji was close. He buried his face into the leather satchel until he felt the bike begin to turn onto a new street. It wasn't long before Eiji stopped pedaling, allowing the bicycle to glide down the hill further into the park. 

While the park was frozen with winter, it did not lose its beauty. The smell of leaves and fire from nearby homes stuck in the air, giving the sparse Christmas decorations a nostalgic feel.For a moment Ash allowed himself to remember winter on the coast of Massachusetts, earthy aromas of healthy fireplaces filtering in the ocean breeze.

They settled near a bench on a bridge looking over the lake. Ash remembered reading a book by Salinger, where a boy had puzzled over the location of Central Park's ducks during winter, when he saw a fat mallard waddle near the frozen waterbed. Eiji took out a plastic-wrapped bun from his satchel and broke off a piece, throwing it down the ravine. The duck swallowed it, then Ash and Eiji shared the rest on the bench.

A flock of pigeons had begun to gather nearby when Eiji took something else out of his bag. It was small and delicately wrapped. "Here," Eiji said. He looked slightly embarrassed but was smiling. "I thought you might like it." 

He pulled back the paper to find a tape inside. The plastic case was covered in drawings of animals, with a title that read "Dear Ash." 

"To thank you for tape," he nodded towards the Walkman. "I do not have money to buy for you, so I make one." He looked proud of himself, and Ash's heart was singing. It didn't matter that he had nothing to play it on, nobody had ever made anything for him before. 

He looked over the songs on the back before giving Eiji a look. "Madonna? Really?"

Eiji stuck his tongue out at him defiantly and Ash laughed. He skipped the tape until the Walkman played "Like a Virgin."

"Have you ever make origami before?" Eiji asked. When Ash shook his head, he continued, "Want to try?"

Eiji showed him. Every fold, every bit of magic that went into every crease. He explained to Ash how there were souls in all things, about Izumo; where the gods of Shinto would slither out of the ocean onto the beach, joining in unison to discuss human affairs.

"Izumo-taisha is actually shrine of human relationships," he paused to correct Ash's folding, then mused with a chuckle, "I wonder if they ever talked about us."

The tail of Ash's crane was stubby, the neck thick; overall, it was unimpressive, but Eiji said he liked it. 

"Now breathe in... like this."

Ash did, and Eiji smiled wide when both cranes began stretching their wings and acknowledged one another. Together they watched as the paper birds joined the flock of pigeons before disappearing into the sky.

That night Dino kept Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring' playing in the tape deck. Ash fell asleep in the front seat while gazing at cars, fantasizing about paper birds.

He dreamed, and in his dream, his back ached. His other self had looked in the mirror, trying with difficulty to see where the pain was coming from, to no success. As dreams never have a good grasp on time, Ash could not be sure how long it had taken, only that the pain grew two lumps, then spots of blood on his shirt. When he removed it, he discovered two small paper wings, covered in tiny paper feathers.

The wings grew large and were speckled with blood. Thin and fragile, they often tore and the feathers would bend, so Ash had to carefully flatten each piece and assemble them back together with tape. They were ugly and thin, overly fragile and covered in tape, but still able to fly. Never before did he realize how brilliantly blue the sky was until he became a part of it. 

When he woke up, he had a full bladder and his back was sore.

 

 


	4. The White Hare of Inaba

"A long time ago, when magic was common and animals could talk, there lived a little white hare.

He lived on the island of Oki, weened to be fast and strong on the thick, green foilage. Even among the many hares who lived and played on the beach, he was special, as he was very clever.

The hare spent his days playing tricks on the simple-minded birds by the shore or racing the other hares through the valley. But nobody can stay a fool to the same tricks forever, and the birds grew wiser and the hares grew tired. Quickly becoming bored, the hare turned his attention to Inaba, a land across the sea.

His eyes would gaze in longing wonder at the challenge he would never conquer, his little legs unable to swim. Until now, the hare had never taken a moment to notice it.

Summer brought an end to the rainy season, leaving the green on the island beefy with health and the beach thick with mud. Amaterasu gifted morning, and the wanizame arrived to bury their thick bodies in the clay, scales glittering as they bathed in the sun--"

 

"Wait," Ash asked, "the hell is a wani-za-whatever?"

 

"It is like dragon... or, ah." Eiji paused, straightening his arms before snapping them together like a pair of sharp jaws.

 

"Crocodile?"

 

"Sure. But not really."

 

"Are they some kind'a fantasy creature?"

 

"Ash, it is not very important to story, okay? All you need to know is, they have sharp teeth.

 

"So, there lived one wani, a simple-minded creature, who grew tired of his loneliness. On the journey to the island he found himself surrounded by many other wani, and they had laughed and joked together while paddling their scaly legs. But now on the shore, in his new life, friends who once felt important no longer were.

The wani rolled in the mud and tried to find comfort in his solitude, but he had tasted the delight that comes from the comfort of others, and hungrily yearned for more. He wanted to be like the other wanizame, who basked in the sun together and slept in piles of scaly bodies.

He wandered the beach until he noticed the little white hare, ears perked and twitching, beady red eyes shining green. The hare had taken to coming to the shore, wanting very much to cross the sea to Inaba.

"Hello, wanizame," the hare said, then curiously studied the scaly creature. Like most clever beings, the hare knew a fool when he saw one. "Did you just arrive from across the sea?"

"Hello, hare," said the wani, delighted to have found someone to soothe his loneliness. "Yes. The mud in Inaba was too dry and cold, as Amaterasu is late to warm us this year."

"That is unfortunate," replied the hare. "But had she, then we would have never met."

With large, sharp teeth, the wani grinned. The hare knew he would have to be exceptionally clever if he was to get this creature to do as he wished.

The two animals spent the day together, exchanging stories and enjoying the sun. It became obvious to the hare that while the wanizame was lonely, he was greedy and selfish. It took no time at all for the scaly creature to devour the greens the hare had shared, leaving very little for the hare himself.

"Mr. Wani," the hare began, "You live in the sea and I on a small island, so our lives are very different. Tell me, are wani less selfish than hares?"

The wanizame tilted his snout and kept the sharp smile. "I would imagine so. My kind lives in the sea, which touches every corner of the world. We are very wise, and have seen many things. It makes sense that we would be less-so than hares who live in solitude on an island."

"I see," the hare nodded. "We hares may be selfish. But we are strong, as our numbers are large." He could tell that the wani was very full of himself.

"Ha!" The wani laughed, "That may be so, but you are but a warren on a tiny island. We are not only strong, but vast as the sea!"

"I sure would like to see for myself," said the hare, his eyes sparkling. All too eager to show off, the wani convinced his brethren to gather, guiding them into a row across the ocean. The clever hare trembled in anticipation, watching as the wani built a bridge of scaly bodies to Inaba."

 

 

"Ha, good for him." Ash was smiling. "The kazekami had it coming."

 

"It's wanizame!" Eiji said, exasperated, "and it's kamikaze."

 

"Close enough."

 

"It really is not. Now, let me continue. And do not be so happy for the hare just yet."

 

 

"Hare, come count us!" The wani yelled from the opposing shore. "See our great numbers and be amazed."

"Yes!" Yelled the hare in agreement, "But please, tell your brothers to be still as I count." The hare lept from snout to pacified snout until he stood before the leader of this very arrogant show. The wanizame's eyes were triumphant, proud of all that he could prove to the hare.

"Are you not impressed?" Smiled the wani. The hare smiled back, but with much less humor.

"Oh, Mr. Wani," the hare said, brushing his whiskers, "your ego is easily satiated, and you use others to do so." He hopped onto the shore of Inaba, prepared to run, "But thank you for the ride."

Furious at the hare's betrayal, the wani immediately sought revenge. His sharp teeth dug into the hare's pearly white fur, stripping him bare. The once beautiful and clever creature was now pitiful, quivering with pain as he bled into the mud. Pleased with his work, the wani disappeared back into the sea, once again alone.

The hare felt terrible pity for himself. With night came the cold, making his bloody skin burn. He attempted to soothe his raw flesh with seaweed, but his body continued to ache and bleed. It did not take long for the hare to fall into the comforts of his own misery, crying with his nose between his paws.

In the morning, the hare was found by a proud group of men. They appeared to be nobles, tall men fitted with expensive, fine garments. These were the king's sons, on a journey to the other side of Inaba.

"Little hare," said one of the men, "Why are you crying?"

"I got into a fight with a wanizame," cried the hare. "And now I am dying."

The prince, a particularly cruel man, feigned kindness. If the hare had still been beautiful, a regal creature covered in milky white fur, then his sincerity might have been real. But the creature before him, raw and bleeding, was pathetic.

"Oh dear hare, my heart hurts for you," the prince spoke. "But I can ease your suffering. Please, go bathe in the sea then sit in the wind. Your fur will grow back thick and beautiful, and your pain will cease."

The usually clever hare was desperate, and even clever creatures do stupid things when they are left with little hope.

He did as he was told and sat near the shore. His raw skin, now thick with sand and salt, burned greatly in the wind. The little hare writhed and cried in the muck, never before had he pitied himself this much."

 

Eiji turned to look at Ash. He had been quiet for awhile now, head down and looking at nothing. 

 

"Last to hear the hare's sobs was the final brother, the youngest of them all. Neither strong nor unique, he seemed unremarkable, but his eyes were gentle like a deer. The prince carried a heavy pack that slowed his footsteps, for his brothers left him to burden their stock alone.

"Little hare," said the prince, his voice brimming with kindness. "Let me help you."

The hare shuddered. He had been fooled before.

"I was attacked by a wanizame," explained the hare. His voice had become tainted with weakness, and no longer could he move. "And your brothers left me to die. Never again will I run through this world, all because I was a fool."

"You have been treated very cruelly," responded the boy, and the hare could sense his sadness. "I can ease your pain."

When the youngest prince sat on his knees in the dirt, muddying his fingernails and fine clothes for a pitiful animal, the hare's heart filled with hope.

The prince bathed his raw body in river water and rubbed his skin dry with cattails. His hands were soft and gentle, assuring the hare that he was safe. It took only moments for his white fur to begin to grow, at first thin and whispy, then thick and full..."

 

 

Ash hummed. His green eyes looked fairly distant. "What happened to the rabbit after?" he mused.

 

"It's a hare," responded Eiji. Despite the tone in his voice, he was smiling.

 

"Same thing." When Eiji laughed, insisting that they really were different, Ash returned with a wicked grin. "Bunny, then."

 

"You are such a pain," Eiji kept the twinkle in his eye. "If you want to know, we will have to continue story."

 

"We have time for that," Ash said, and got comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew Izumo had a connection with more than just one rabbit ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! Please leave review or kudos if you have a chance, I've been having a rough time lately and they really cheer me up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Symposium

The first time Eiji experienced loss was inside of his mother's womb.

Okumura Aito left his mother with a dusky face and eyes red with blood, his twin's umbilical cord tight around his neck. While Aito's tiny fingers turned blue, his brother's life began with healthy red cheeks and a throat full of screams.Aito, "soaring" or "ocean," had been expected for nine long months. Eiji, or "second-born son," had been a surprise.

Aito grew up to be a phantom, an empty canvas who had all the goodness and hopes of the world projected onto him. Never would he become ugly with experience, grow flaws or make mistakes. His death destined him to forever be a concept, an idea that never would be, but could have been beautiful.

Even out of the womb, Eiji found himself struggling to keep up. Always, he would be second; always, he would be half of a whole.

Aito occupied his mind a lot lately. 

As Okumura Hiroto's health spiralled, Eiji measured time in the number of completed jigsaw puzzles, in the magazines his mother read backward and forwards, in blood draws, in the number of waiting rooms, in nine hundred carefully-folded paper cranes. Everything in his life felt abstract, like a fold that refused to match up, and his mother's accusatory eyes made everything far more surreal.

It did not matter how much life he breathed into his paper animals, Eiji came into this world with death at his side and blood under his fingernails.

Okumura Hiroto died on a Tuesday morning in spring, shortly after Eiji folded crane number nine-hundred-and-twenty-two in the Bellevue waiting room. After years of illness and medical procedures, the Okumura's were exhausted, and a thick cloud of once-forbidden vulnerability settled. The facade of strength faded, making room for mourning and the pleasant feeling of relief. Finally, it was over.

Eiji did not attend a single class that day, but he did go see Ash. The subway car sweltered with heat, but he shivered in his seat as he held himself. A homeless man shook a can in his face, 'God bless ya man, God bless ya,' before a woman with a large cart and a bloated, flowery skirt entered the car with a huff. She loudly preached to a row of subway pews that the devil ate all of the rats in Union Square, then promptly pushed her creaking cart to the back of the car.  Nobody other than Eiji bothered to look up and acknowledge her. 

Walking from the station to PS 812, Eiji's mind scratched with rats. His head hurt with tiny hands clawing up his brain stem to feast, fogging his thoughts with blood.

The crowd thinned before Eiji spotted him. Ash sat on the steps, in the same hoodie, smoking the same cigarettes he picked out of ash cans. Students went out of their way to walk around him as if the boy sat in a bubble. Eiji didn't know much school gossip, but he knew enough to see that people avoided Ash, that he made them uncomfortable. It broke his heart. 

Ash noticed him and smiled; face dull and green eyes heavy, he looked exhausted. Opening his mouth to speak, he frowned when he noticed Eiji's eyes were raw with tears.

Eiji wasn't sure what compelled him to do so, but he hugged Ash. His face dug into that filthy hoodie and his arms held him tight. He smelled like cheap deodorant, cigarettes and the soap from the school bathroom. Ash went rigid with surprise, and his arms were unsure of what to do. But soon, they were hugging him back.

"My father died," he managed to choke out. He couldn't yet speak of his grief, the relief, the rats in his head, or how stupid all of those boxes of cranes under his bed felt. They were worthless now, nine hundred useless prayers that would never be heard. His father was dead, and no wish or amount of magic would bring him back.

Ash was quiet, but he held him tight. He gave his apologies and squeezed his arm. "Let's go somewhere," he said.

"Where?" His brown eyes were burning red.

"How do you feel about surprises?" Eiji never thought about it before so he shrugged. They sat together on the train and watched as a raggedy old man entered their car and played the violin. He performed a sad melody and Ash gave him a dollar.

Ash taught Eiji to see New York differently. Like himself, the city was grimy and harsh, but the trash covered a sensitive and vulnerable soul.

Sitting at 200 ft above sea level, Fort Tyron Park offered some of the most impressive views of the Hudson River and the Palisades. Thick with woods, the park endured as a quiet haven hidden in uptown Manhattan.

Ash was not a quiet man when he had a lot to say about something. He explained the land's history, how their shoes walked on thick formations of bedrock and marble that made the city skyline possible, about the large Pleistocene-induced structures dating back to the last Ice Age. Both stopped to touch a wall of bedrock so that they could roll their hands over the smooth, aged surface.

These stones had seen mastodons and giant sloths, flightless carnivorous birds and long-toothed cats. Each crack had witnessed countries drift apart, civilizations thrive and crumble, New York City grow from nothing and begin its slow descent into the sea. 

Late into the afternoon they carved their initials into the stone with Ash's knife, marks destined to live longer than they would. It made Eiji feel small but warm. 

"I never knew something like this was here," Eiji said. Both had removed their shoes, walking in the scattered light to feel the heat of the ground beneath their feet. The wet leaves in the warm dirt felt good between Eiji's toes.

Ash wiped his hands on his jeans then hopped from a stone into a sunbeam. He looked almost like a scruffy cat. "I barely come here, but I thought you'd like it." A pause. "This isn't the surprise, though."

"No?" A confused stare, which Ash predictably responded to with a smirk. His blonde hair glittered in the scattered light and he bit a black-painted fingernail.

"No. The best part is still up ahead."

"It better be somewhere nice," Eiji teased, a smile forced but genuine.

On a steeper trail where a small creek trickled over rocks shiny with quartz, they paused to put their shoes back on. The brush was thick and Eiji had to put up his hands to guard his eyes against a haze of gnats. Around them sparrows chattered in a poplar tree, a child screamed gleefully, a brook healthily bubbled under a bridge. Eiji's father died that morning, but the air was drunk with happiness. 

Ash nudged his head towards another path and Eiji saw the overlook. A stone wall guarded a view of the Hudson River and the Washington Bridge on one side, a commanding view of Manhattan from the other. Skyscrapers and the life inside them looked so far away, almost dream-like. Strange how even the ugliest of things looked beautiful from a distance, and Eiji was mesmerized.

He watched as Ash sat on the stone wall and lit a stubby cigarette, back turned with his feet over the ledge. Moments later there were two, and Eiji looked down at the pair of loafers and hi-top sneakers pointing down to the shrubbery below.

"Sometimes it's nice to make everything look really small." Ash's hand waved to the view as he breathed smoke into the air. Eiji's father had smoked a pipe, but his preferred tobacco had been more earthy; less harsh, less Ash.

"It's beautiful up here," Eiji said.

"Yeah," the cigarette bobbed in Ash's mouth."Bet you didn't know this city had secrets like that. There's lots, you know."

"What else?"

Ash paused. "Fuck, well..." A moment of thought, then a spark in his eye. "Like, did you know about the secret subway under Grand Central?" Eiji didn't and shook his head. "It has a large vaulted glass ceiling." Pause. "Oh, and that over there," he pointed to a building in the distance, worn with old stone, "is the Cloisters. It's made to look like an old French Monastery."

Shocked that he did not notice it before, Eiji stared. "It does not look like something that belongs here."

Ash looked smug. "It's a museum. We can go sometime if you want."

He told Eiji more secrets: about a man with a glass eye who gave out free books on a street near E 23rd, how every Thursday men in costumes performed with drums on the L train, that the fat, friendly calico cat who sprawled on the ice machine at the W 15th St bodega was named Jaws, about an abandoned pencil factory with amazing views where street kids smoked weed and chatted gossip in their own teenage symposium.

"Do you want to talk about your pops?" Moments ago Ash began writing on a paper square in ballpoint pen, scribbling little pictures. "It's okay if you don't."

Eiji picked at his fingers. "We weren't that close," he admitted. His hands twitched restlessly, not used to having nothing in them to fold. "But I loved him."

There wasn't much else to say. It proved difficult to put into words how he was feeling mere hours after his father's death, let alone translate them into English so that Ash could understand.

When Eiji introduced Ash to his father, he had already been a shell of his former self. Fluid swelled his abdomen and jaundice turned his eyes dark yellow, while the ammonia bubbling in his blood trickled up into his brain. He yelled at Ash in nonsensical Japanese before asking in English why Eiji was out so late. Never before had Eiji felt such a wide range of emotions; of confusion, of sorrow and embarrassment.

All of Eiji’s life his father had been a simple but disciplined man. He spent twenty years working the same job as an administrator in a bureaucratic office, stamping and filing documents and making the same monotonous phone calls. A co-worker at a company party claimed that his father's absences and tardiness could be counted on one hand, that he was reliable and never complained.

For years Eiji watched his father succumb to cancer, and for years he imagined how it might happen. But nothing could prepare him for his father's incoherence, for the shock he felt when he realized that the man who raised him could no longer distinguish night from day or commit to basic tasks.

One evening Eiji caught him getting dressed for a job that he no longer had, in a country far away. His tie flapped in a shabby knot while his pants were on backward, and he stumbled through the kitchen mumbling about needing his morning coffee.

When he yelled at Ash, Eiji's heart boiled with shame and anger. He was humiliated that his father would act like this, that he wasn't getting any better. It took everything inside him not to cry out in frustration, not to scream at his father to snap out of it. Instead, he swallowed the thick bile in his throat and led Ash to his room, where they watched Indiana Jones and made more paper cranes.

"I wish I knew him better." That sounded right, and he said it in a voice tinged with a quiet, heavy sorrow. Their knees were touching and Ash brushed him with careful, kind fingers, "It will always be too late now."

Ash's green eyes dulled in understanding. "I know. I never got to know my brother either." He looked far away as he spoke. "Nobody ever told me, but I know that he died in 'Nam."

His friend spoke very little about his family, but he told Eiji enough. He knew about the road trips, about the two-bed motels that became one-bed motels. It hurt Eiji to think too much about it.

"I always think, it seems impossible he could die. Even now, saying this... it is strange. Very strange and I..." Eiji closed his eyes and tried to stop the tears, but couldn't. He wanted to connect, to tell Ash about the brother he lost the chance to know, but the sorrow in his chest was already thick as syrup. "I do not know how I feel. But it does not feel real." 

"I'm sorry, Eiji. You don't deserve this shit."

His eyes tightly shut and Ash continued, "Is there a reason why you're not with your Ma?"

Eiji stared out into the garden. The leaves were heavily green and happily drinking the sun. Birds chirped and played in a stone bath.

His mother would be angry with him. The news whipped his body like a horse; she cried as he ran, but his brain vibrated with violent electricity. Everything in his body demanded him to move, to run until his limbs became a machine, gears ticking and turning until they rusted to a halt. He could still feel and hear the slap of the tile floor against his feet, the smell of antiseptic, the relief once city air filled his lungs.

How could he explain to Ash that he needed to escape, to stop these crystal clear images from playing over and over again in his mind?

His voice stuck for a reply, his tongue stumbled. "I could not stay," he managed, then hugged his knees. "I had to get away."

 

"Is your family okay?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Fuck, are _you_ okay?" Ash was touching his fingers now. It was strange how their hands seemed to be made for fitting together like puzzle pieces.

 

"No."

 

Ash squeezed his hand and said something about how it was okay to not feel okay, then gifted him with slightly raised lips and brighter eyes. "I know that you will be, though."

Eiji clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I can tell," Ash showed him the piece of paper he had been working on, now folded into a new shape. The four visible sides were hideously tattooed like a subway car, scrawled over in sloppy pen drawings. It looked utterly ridiculous and did not resemble any type of origami Eiji had seen before, a horse in a field of unicorns.

"Really, I can. I have magic too, you know. I can see the future."He said it with the wave of a hand and a mythical voice, it was so absurd and random that Eiji surprised himself with a laugh.

 

"You don't believe me," Ash smiled.

 

"No, I do not. That is very silly, Ash."

 

"Nuh uh, it's true. And this can help me."

 

"And what is that?"

 

"That,” he began, ”is a cootie catcher." The device moved open and closed with his hands, like a little biting monster. "And this is 'American magic.'"

"Are you going to say those scribbles are spells?"

Ash looked at him slyly. "Here, just look. If you stop being a shit about it I'll read your fortune," he gave Eiji a better view of the origami biter. "Pick one."

He studied the four sides covered in pen. One was a bicycle, the second a middle finger, the third a poor rendition of a Keith Haring dancing duo, and the last a little black cat. 

 

"Finger," Eiji smirked.

 

"Tsk, I really thought you'd choose Fish. Naughty, naughty." A grin before he began to shuffle the mouth open and closed a number of times, spelling out 'F-U-C-K-Y-O-U.'

"Okay, choose another." Eiji looked inside. An American flag, "MADONNA" written in large letters, a hairy penis, a big-nosed man peering over a wall with "Kilroy wuz here" above it.

 

"Madonna."

 

Ash rolled his eyes in exaggeration. "Of course." More shuffling, M-A-D-O-N-N-A. "One more and your future shall be revealed."

Eiji peered in closer again. A car, some type of graffiti scribble, a figure Eiji asked what the hell it was (it was the Statue of Liberty), and a bird with a crooked beak. He pointed to the bird.

Ash hummed a tune as his hands folded back the flap. "Let's see what American magic can do," he peered inside, raised an eyebrow, then made a noise. "Seems that you will have a very happy marriage; wife, kids, a dog, the whole damn shebang." He showed Eiji the fortune, scrawled in Ash's messy handwriting. "See, what did I tell you? Everything, a-ok." He winked at him, then spread out his arms.

"Hear that?" he yelled out into the landscape, "Everything is gonna be JUST FINE!" The paper fortune teller flapped in-between his fingers and Eiji grabbed it before it flew away.

He studied the words then tugged hard on Ash's sleeve. "Wait, that is not what it says," his friend hummed as Eiji squinted at him, "It say, 'Normal Life. Frowny face.'"

"Yeah? And what do you think a normal life is?" Ash rolled his shoulders, "if you ask me, you should think about being more clever with your future."

Eiji could laugh. Normal life was the Okumura's, a father in the hospital and a mother who banged that guy with the hand scar from the cannery. Ash could be very stupid.

Their foreheads were almost touching now and Eiji settled on playfully glaring at him. "You know what I think?" he said, and their eyes bore into one another. Ash shook his head and Eiji gave a wolfish, challenging grin.

Then a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

 

"I think that you are a very bad fortune teller."

 

A pause, then a smile. "Maybe." 

  

 

______________

 

Eiji taught Ash to love differently.

After Dino, the only education Ash ever received in love came from the movies and in the sheets of motel bedrooms. He learned more from the movies.

He paid a lady with pink hair three dollars for a ticket to enter the No Tales Theater and a small tub of popcorn. Like most theaters in Times Square, it smelled thickly of butter, smoke, and sweat. Eyes stared him down but he was never asked his age, in the right outfit he looked old enough anyway.

So here was Ash, sitting on a steel chair in a sickly humid theater, hand stuffed down his open fly as Marlon Brando panted through the speakers.

Monsters swam in the brain when people fucked. Their eyes went black and hot, they grunted like animals and bucked their hips like deer. Ash, a professional at making his body doll-hollow, would hiss and wait for it to be over. 

But the women in these movies were interesting; those sweaty, nakedly plump bodies who breathed together, who tasted one another's tongues and spit then moaned in ways that turned his face hot. There was the way their toes curled, the breathy and involuntary gasps, the smiles and equally hungry eyes. He wanted to enjoy this.

That phantom feeling of facial hair scratching against his thighs, the sounds of torn clothing. When the violated Frenchwoman pressed her naked body against the wall just to feel it scratch her flesh, arms reaching and shoulders tinted with light, he gasped. I'm still alive, I'm still alive! she must be thinking, he mused. It was all too familiar, and he pumped harder into his hand.

Marlon Brando guided his hands into forbidden places and Ash bucked his hips. The chair scratched against the floor.

 

On a Friday night, he decided to take Eiji. Ash mostly kept to the L.E.S, but Times Square was known for its easy tricks and these streets had long ago worn down the soles of his sneakers. When they passed a Howard Johnson's, the second-floor window advertising a woman's buttocks and a movie called "Super Quickie," Eiji's body turned straight and tight. He looked afraid.

Ash put an arm around his shoulders and made a joke. That got a smile out of him, but it was short. Eiji's eyes darted around nervously. He was no longer a stranger to the streets of New York, but this was another world. His face turned scarlet when a woman in ridiculously tall heels and hair heavy with hairspray tried to hand him a card with a smiley face on it. Ash blew her a kiss.

Two folding seats, two tickets to see Last Tango in Paris, and one tub filled with Diet Pepsi. Eiji watched curiously until the two forms on screen melted into one another like a Francis Bacon painting. Limbs jerked, clothing tore, bodies oozed like oil paint. Eiji cried.

Ash felt awful and confused, but he held his friend as they left the theater. When Eiji asked why Ash would take him to see something like that, he wasn't sure how to answer. He settled on the explanation that he thought it was beautiful.

Eiji was deathly quiet and Ash's stomach knotted in uneasy fear. Now that he saw who Ash really was, what would he do?

His eyes were still wet when he spoke. He bowed his head and leaned into Ash's shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Long ago Ash had forgotten how to cry, but his eyes burned hot and red with tears of his own. Relief filled his throat and he swallowed it.

 

Dino and Ash were back at the Bronx motel. The sheets were soft but cold and sticky, and Dino pushed Ash into them.

He mused how Ash was not around much anymore and nipped at his ear. Ash kept stone-faced and quiet. When Dino asked if he had a girlfriend, Ash tensed.

"I'm not attracted to you anymore, you know," hands were in his hair and Ash leaned into Dino's touch. When he was gentle, it felt good. "I'm still here because I love you." This was a warning, and Ash nodded into his hand. 

After cleaning up they went to the diner next door. Dino got the special then ordered a salad for Ash. The tomatoes were dry and chewy, and he stared hard at the pancakes and eggs on Dino's plate.

"Don't look at me like that, Ash." His knife scratched against the fork as he cut into his eggs. The yolk was runny like blood. "Those ten pounds are not my fault."

He dotted his mouth with a napkin. "You really need to take better care of yourself." Another warning. "Not only does your hair need cut, but those hands are filthy." Dino picked up Ash's hands with the tips of two fingers as if picking up something disgusting to study.Ash chuckled. This man had found those hands perfectly fine an hour ago when they were giving handjobs.

"What have I told you about painting your nails?" Dino asked.

With a crooked smile, Ash chewed and swallowed a piece of lettuce.

Dino sighed and turned back to his meal. "Nevermind." He looked disappointed as he resumed cutting his food. "You know, I liked you better when you were a child."

 

Ash found his voice, "As you've told me."

 

Silence, more chewing. The waitress refilled their coffee.

 

"You were so sweet then," Dino continued.

 

Ash's eyes dimmed. Nearly half of his life had been spent trying to please Dino, and that hadn't changed. Most of Ash's rebellion lived only inside of Dino's head or locked away in his own mind. He wasn't sure how to make him happy anymore, so he simply apologized, focused on his dinner and thought about the knife in his pocket.

Ash kept Fish carefully hidden from Dino. The days when they lived in the Cadillac were especially difficult, as the little paper cat was fussy like a toddler. During the night Ash could hear him squirming in his pack, trying to find a way out.

In the motel, it was easier. Ash could escape for a while into the hallway or say that he needed a smoke. During these times he could let Fish breathe as he brushed his fingers over the edges of fine origami paper. 

That night Fish slept in his pack as Dino did Ash against the wall. In the room, the lampshades trembled with their bodies, and Ash's bag fell from the dresser to the floor. Dino coughed into his neck and Ash's knees weakly quivered.

Ash was slipping his underwear back over his hips when Dino noticed the drawings and zoo of origami animals. He dug into the pack and found the letters he and Eiji exchanged in class, one of Eiji's Polaroid shots, the mixtape. Next to Dino, Fish and the others were just pieces of paper.

The mixtape broke into pieces under his foot and Ash went down to the floor. A flowery purple bruise blossomed around his eye. He cried and begged as Dino tore Fish and the other animals to pieces. 

 

There are many ways to lose people in life. Some are violent, many are sad, but most are simple.

For Ash and Eiji, it was because children are helpless against the choices of their parents. Eiji's father was dead, and it was time to return to Japan.

"It is funny," Eiji began. They had carried a box covered in duct tape on a train to Brooklyn, getting off at the Coney Island stop. "I never wanted to come here, but now I do not want to leave."

Ash said nothing, only stared out into the sea. The sun was beginning to set and the traffic on the boardwalk was thinning, leaving only the two of them with the clapping of waves and the smells of grease and salt.

"I guess there won't be any of those wani things to help me cross the sea, huh?" He stared down at his hands, fingernails raw with dirt and nail polish.

Eiji hummed and ran his hand over the box thick with tape. "I think I am ready to open," he said. "Do you have your knife?"

The knife sliced open the tape, but Eiji kept the box tongues closed with his hands. Nine hundred paper cranes slept inside.

"You ever finish the rest?" Ash asked.

"Did not see reason to. What is the point, when wish was for my father?" 

They trudged barefoot in the sand until the waves touched their feet. Ash pointed at two tiny clams sinking into the beach, swallowed by thick sand, and thought how wonderful it would be if two people could do the same.

"Okay," Eiji breathed. "I am going to open it."

His hands released the flaps. Nine-hundred cranes came alive with nine-hundred pops. In waves, they flew into the air, a fighting flock of colors, shapes, and sizes. Nearly one-thousand cranes took to the sky and faded into the horizon across the sea, an accumulation of Eiji's magic.

A week later and the desk in English class was empty again. Without the walks home from school or Fish in his backpack, it was as if Eiji had never existed.

Sometimes Ash would go back to the beach where he saw almost a thousand paper cranes black out the sun. He would lay on his back in the sand and allow his body to sink as he stared up at the sky.

There were stories about phantom limbs, but Ash could relate more to the idea of phantom people. Eiji once told him that when he turned ten-years-old, his parents admitted he was born a twin. This did not surprise Eiji, who had always felt a ghost in his life.Ash mused that missing Eiji felt a lot like this.

On the first day of summer, Ash skipped school and went to the beach. He dug his feet into the sand and unzipped his bag, taking out a binder, a roll of tape, a piece of chalk and a plastic baggie filled with black pieces of torn origami paper.

Carefully he began to tape every last piece back together. The result was stiff and more tape than paper, but it was still Fish. With the chalk he wrote a short message in big letters then began to fold. Ash didn't know how to make a cat, but he could make a crane.

When the paper chest puffed out and began to breathe, Ash grinned. The black crane with the little white blaze stared up at him and tried out it's new wings. 

 

"Hi," Ash told it. "I'm happy to see you again."

 

The paper form twitched, restless and wanting to fly, but waiting for permission.

"Don't worry, I won't lock you up again," he said, and lovingly touched it's paper body, "Just say hi to Eiji for me." Ash flattened his palm and watched the black crane fly further and further away. 

He had a date in an hour and Dino was expecting him home for dinner, but Ash took the train in the opposite direction. When he reached 34th Street, he gave his train card to a homeless man begging for change and a ride home.

At Penn Station there was the Greyhound sign, a booth manned by an uninterested woman chewing a wad of gum. Her body straightened when he approached the window and removed most of the money from his wallet.

Ash slapped the bills down on the counter. "How far would this get me?" he asked. She printed him a ticket.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finished my first chaptered fic!
> 
> Know it's probably not the ending that most wanted, but I personally see a lot of hope. I think Ash and Eiji will see each other again one day. 
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who stuck with this. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually based on a dream that I had. Eiji would leave little paper animals on Ash's desk everyday, then they would follow him home. I had to write it.
> 
> Know this chapter was probably a bit rough, but promise Eiji and Ash will find some peace.
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
